My Own Words
by SandraDeee
Summary: A terrible secret is revealed about Martin Fitzgerald's fate. How will Luis and Sheridan deal with the repercussions--especially when Sheridan's own words condemn her?
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I wrote this story in 2002 as part of a timed writing experiment. I gave myself 30 minutes of non-stop writing time just to see what I would come up with. "My Own Words" was the result. This is the only Luis/Sheridan centric tale I wrote during my time as a _Passions_ aficionado.

Obviously, I do not own the Passions characters. If I did, you can bet your bottom dollar that the show would have been quite different.

Teaser: A terrible secret is revealed about Martin Fitzgerald's fate. How will Luis and Sheridan deal with the repercussions--especially when Sheridan's own words condemn her?

**Part One**

My own words haunt me—condemn me.

_"I did it! I killed Martin Fitzgerald! I killed Luis's father!"_

How could things change so completely in one instant? Dear God, it wasn't supposed to be like this! I should have known. I should have known that things were too perfect, too wonderful. Never before had I felt a love so intense. I should have known that I couldn't maintain this happiness. I should have known I would find a way to ruin this—just as I've managed to ruin everything else.

Father was right. I have been a naughty girl.

But I didn't mean it! _I didn't!_

Blood is on my hands. It won't come off. I keep rubbing them; they're raw now. Yet I can still feel it: sticky, salty, clinging to my skin like a cloak of guilt.

_The guilt._

I deserve what I get.

_I did it. I killed Martin Fitzgerald! I killed Luis's father!_

How could Luis possibly love me after that? How could anyone _ever_ love me?

But someone did love me.

_Mother._

She appeared to me in a dream last night and told me to be strong. She said I would have to be stronger than she ever was. But Mother—surely she was the strongest woman ever! To have endured a marriage to my father for so many years….to live with the lies, the deceit, the coldness. How could anyone do that?

But she did love me.

I was her little princess. Sometimes I would catch her staring at me. She didn't have a great deal of stamina left after I was born; she never recovered, but the look in her eyes was all I ever needed to know. She loved me beyond any doubt, beyond any reason. It was always there, shining, illuminating her weary features.

I hadn't seen a look of such blind love until I looked into Luis's eyes on Christmas Eve. He held me so close to him, I was certain he could feel my heart beating—pounding actually—from being so near him. After so much time, after so many obstacles, he held my hands, tears in his eyes, and told me the words I had longed to hear for so long.

_I love you, Sheridan._

I saw adoration, hope, a promise of wonderful things to come, when I looked into his deep brown eyes. Strange. I could have _anything_ I wanted in the entire world that money could buy, but it was Luis who gave me the greatest gift imaginable.

What did I have to offer in return? The hands of a murderer.

My eyes are squeezed shut, but I can still see Luis. _Please! I don't want to see! I don't want to!_

Those same eyes that held dreams of a future with me—_with me!—_now hold pain. Pain at knowing the truth, disbelief that sometimes the truth is more painful than the perpetuation of lies, and anguish—anguish for knowing what must be done.

I killed Martin Fitzgerald, and with him, Luis's love for me.

Luis told me months ago when Dr. Russell performed hypnosis that he would never forgive the person responsible for his father's disappearance. That person wasn't deserving of mercy, and it was his intention to see that person brought to justice.

That person is I.

_I_ must pay for my crimes. _I_ must pay for taking a man's life. Not just any man. Luis's father. Pilar's husband.

_Pilar._

Every night for seventeen years, she's lit a candle and said prayers, earnestly soliciting God for a miracle.

When I was a young girl, Pilar showed me more warmth than my own family. After Mother died, she held me as I cried. Oh, Father had insisted that crying was a sign of weakness. Cranes didn't cry, but I did.

With her warm hands, she touched my wet face, wiping away the tears. With her soothing voice, she sang a lullaby. She rocked me, promised me that all would be right again, told me stories of her children, Antonio and Luis, and of her husband, Martin. Her eyes sparkled when she spoke of them. They didn't have much, but they had love.

_I took it away from them_.

What kind of monster am I?

How could I do something like that and not even remember it clearly? I just don't understand! It doesn't make any sense!

"We tried to protect you, Sheridan, but our protection is no longer available. It is time that you face up to your actions," I hear Father's booming voice say over the loudspeakers.

My head is spinning. I can hear the shocked rumblings of the guests at Ethan's engagement party. Amidst it all, I hear Pilar's imploring cries in Spanish. In my mind, I see Theresa's quiet tears and sense Miguel's confusion. But mostly I can feel Luis slipping away from me.

I open my eyes and look at him. I want to say something—_anything_. How can I take away his pain? How can I make him understand when I don't understand? How can I make him believe it's going to be alright when I don't know what will happen?

Words aren't adequate.

The damage has been done.

Those were my own words, the harbingers of suffering.

Oh, dear God, what am I going to do?


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I wrote this story in 2002 as part of a timed writing experiment. I gave myself 30 minutes of non-stop writing time just to see what I would come up with. "My Own Words" was the result. This is the only Luis/Sheridan centric tale I wrote during my time as a _Passions_ aficionado.

Obviously, I do not own the Passions characters. If I did, you can bet your bottom dollar that the show would have been quite different.

Teaser: A terrible secret is revealed about Martin Fitzgerald's fate. How will Luis and Sheridan deal with the repercussions--especially when Sheridan's own words condemn her?

**Part Two**

I don't believe it. I _won't_ believe it.

Yet those words—they were hers. The tone, the fright, the realization—they were hers.

_"I did it! I killed Martin Fitzgerald! I killed Luis's father!"_

The woman I love, the woman that I intend to spend the rest of my life with, killed my father! How is it even possible?

No! It has to be a trick of some kind. That's all there is to it. Whenever Alistair Crane is involved, there is no such thing as the truth.

But it is her voice. It is! The same voice that only a few days ago spoke of love—_love for me_—is now speaking of an unbelievable crime. Murder. The murder of my father.

I thought we were past this! Didn't Eve tell us that Sheridan's memories were just a manifestation of her guilt over the death of her mother? Didn't Eve tell us that in the hypnosis session, Sheridan realized this? It was on tape!

_The tape…_

I look to Sheridan. Her eyes are squeezed shut, and I wonder what she's thinking. I want to reach for her, but how can I? I don't know what she needs. I don't know what _I_ need.

I feel the blood draining from my face.

_Papa._

So many years of waiting and hoping—and for what? He's gone. My father, my hero, the man I aspired to be when I was a child—he's gone. Has been for years.

Why?

_Dear God, why?_

My eyes dart around the room. My gaze rests on Miguel. How I wish he hadn't come tonight! If only he could have been spared this. I knew he wanted to stay with Charity, that he'd almost remained with her, but didn't want to disappoint Theresa on her big night.

What will this do to him?

Miguel didn't know Papa the way I did. He was only a baby when Papa disappeared. Though he doesn't speak of it much, I know it bothers him. He's the only one of us without any real memories of our father.

Yet there is _so_ much of our father in Miguel. His inherent kindness, his demeanor, even his eyes.

Our eyes meet. I know he's looking for some kind of reassurance from me, but I can't give it to him. I just don't know how anymore.

I see him move toward our mother, putting his arms around her, trying to take away her pain.

But he can't. No one can.

I look away.

I'm in danger of crumbling. I can't let that happen. _I can't_.

My gaze rests on Julian. He looks almost relieved. It was as if he was waiting for this to happen.

_He knew_!

It is taking every ounce of my strength not to knock the smug look off his face.

I notice that Julian looks toward Ethan and my sister. Is he expecting something?

_Theresa_.

She's always been a dreamer. As a child, she used to sneak outside at night into the backyard with her favorite blanket in tow and wait for a falling star—sometimes for hours. I caught her once and asked her what she was doing. She told me that she was wishing for Papa's return. She was certain—so certain—that he would be back.

This is one wish that isn't coming true. Papa's gone.

Ethan is holding her closely, wiping away her tears. I want to think that he's not like the others, but what if he is? I won't let Theresa be destroyed. She's too precious to me for that.

In so many ways, Theresa is much the way Mama used to be before everything changed for us. No, she'd never admit to it now, but I remember how it was when it was just Mama, Papa, Antonio, and me. We didn't have much, but we had each other. Mama was always convinced that we lived in the best of all possible worlds. Nothing could take away our happiness.

But something did.

_Someone_ did.

But how could it have been Sheridan? She was just a child!

I want to pull Sheridan close, whisper in her ear that everything is going to be alright, and touch her beautiful lips, but I can't. How can I? Nothing is ever going to be the same again.

Alistair Crane's cold, arrogant voice permeates the room. "We tried to protect you, Sheridan, but our protection is no longer available. It is time that you face up to your actions."

How could any father be as cruel as Alistair is to Sheridan?

I see her eyes flutter open. Filled with tears, sorrow, and pain, they lock on me.

"Sheridan—"

I start to speak, but I stop. Words simply aren't adequate, and my own words escape me.

What am I going to do?


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I wrote this story in 2002 as part of a timed writing experiment. I gave myself 30 minutes of non-stop writing time just to see what I would come up with. "My Own Words" was the result. This is the only Luis/Sheridan centric tale I wrote during my time as a _Passions_ aficionado.

Obviously, I do not own the Passions characters. If I did, you can bet your bottom dollar that the show would have been quite different.

Teaser: A terrible secret is revealed about Martin Fitzgerald's fate. How will Luis and Sheridan deal with the repercussions--especially when Sheridan's own words condemn her?

**Part Three**

Sheridan looked to Luis, her mouth dry. What was left to say? Nothing—and everything.

"I didn't know," she finally said, her voice so small, it barely reached above a whisper. Though quiet, her words seemed to ring hollowly in her ears. "I didn't know." She looked down at her hands, imagining the blood. It covered her hands, and it would never be gone.

Luis didn't know what to say. Everything was coming at him so quickly; it was difficult to process it. He tried to push aside his emotions, to look at the situation analytically. _Yes, that is the way to handle everything. Try to be objective_, he told himself. Yet how could he be objective, analytical, when the woman he loved more than life itself was standing before him and was, by her own words, the person who took his father's life? It just didn't make sense!

It was then that Julian approached the duo. The room full of guests at the engagement party was silent, watching the events unfold before them.

Sternly crossing his arms, Julian glared at his sister. "What did I tell you, Sheridan? Some things are better left alone."

Luis clenched his fists, amazed at Julian Crane's callousness. "You've known all along!" Luis snapped at Julian. "My mother has worked in this house for _years_. How many times have you seen her wonder about her husband? And how many times have you seen her struggle to make ends meet? You _knew_ that she was devastated over the disappearance of my father, and you said _nothing_!"

Julian rolled his eyes, not in the least impressed by Luis's emotional outburst. "There are times when the truth is best left untouched. Besides, I was protecting my sister. You know how fragile she is."

"Like hell, Crane! You were protecting yourself! How could you do this to your sister?" Luis roared.

Sheridan touched Luis's arm hesitantly. "I did it, Luis. I must have! The dreams…"

"That's right, Sheridan. The dreams were real," Alistair's booming voice announced over the loudspeakers. "You were a naughty, naugh—"

Ethan quickly ambled to the wall and cut the power to the speakers. He walked back to Theresa, took her hand in his, and led her to where his father, Sheridan, and Luis stood.

"There's more to it, Sheridan," Luis said finally speaking to her. "There has to be!"

"But my own words, Luis—they tell us everything we need to know."

"They tell us nothing, Sheridan," Luis insisted.

"Luis is right, Sheridan," Ethan interjected. "Do you actually remember seeing Martin Fitzgerald? Actually remember harming him?"

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "No, but—"

Luis's eyes darted around the room searching for Eve Russell. She could clear up everything. His gaze finally rested on her. She looked visibly shaken as she stood with her husband.

"Eve, _please_."

Eve's lips trembled as she met Luis's gaze. She looked away from Luis into the eyes of her husband and then to the expectant face of her daughter, and she nervously bit her lip. So many secrets, so much pain, and the Cranes were always in the middle of it.

"I—I'm sorry."

"How Eve? How could this happen?" Luis demanded.

"I was…I was…"

"Spit it out!" Luis insisted.

"I was trying to protect Sheridan—and you, Luis."

Sheridan spun around, looking at the sea of faces. "Why does everyone think they know what's best for me?" she cried out. "Why did you think I needed your protection? The only thing that hurts more than knowing the truth is finding out like this!"

She choked back a sob and felt Ethan's hands rest on her shoulders. He pulled her close. "It's going to be okay, Sheridan. It will be," he assured her.

"No, it's not! It's never going to be okay again! Don't you see, Ethan? I'm a murderer! I took a precious, precious life!"

"You were a child," Ethan reminded her. "How could you be responsible for it?"

He looked to his father, disgust and shame coursing through him. His father and grandfather fed Sheridan to the wolves that night. There had to be a reason. There had to be….

Ethan's eyes then met Theresa's tear-filled ones, and he felt his heart lurch. It was supposed to be a happy night, a special night, a night to celebrate their love. It had been turned into a sideshow with his aunt as the main attraction.

Sheridan didn't seem to hear Ethan's words. She held her hands in front of her, staring at them.

"The blood, Luis. The blood—" she whispered. Her hands were marred; her soul was marred.

"Oh Sheridan," Luis said quietly as a tear slid down his cheek.

"My hands…"

Luis didn't know what would happen or even what to think anymore, but he loved the woman who stood before him. He needed her like he needed air.

Taking a deep breath, Luis took Sheridan's hands in his.

**The End**


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